


Soft Sell

by ChampagneSly



Series: Blue Tulip Verse [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Pornstars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-08
Updated: 2012-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-30 19:48:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChampagneSly/pseuds/ChampagneSly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This fic is the prologue to If It Wasn't for the Nights and Fools Rush In, dealing with exactly how Francis and Jos came to be business partners and deals with the origins of the Blue Tulip Studio. (Set approximately two years before Nights and Fools).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soft Sell

The whole affair began when Francis first took idle note of the latest and somewhat unexpected addition to the usual crowd that gathered when he performed his scenes for La Moulin Tres Rouge Studios. When one was the most famous (and infamous) adult performer for Europe’s premier producer of films for the more mature palette entertaining both his fans and his colleagues was part of the pleasure of doing business. He had no shortage of admirers and an almost equal amount of envious enemies after his near five year stint as La Moulin’s most versatile and sensual star. The constant company of curious onlookers, eager junior performers, and hopeful hangers-on was just another facet of the job that Francis enjoyed so thoroughly.   
  
He’d been very good for La Moulin and for these years it had been quite good to him in return, opening up all the backroom doors in Europe and America, making him a brand name whispered in bedrooms and name dropped in clubs. Perhaps his only complaint, and it was one that nagged at him more and more as the first blush of excitement and newness faded, was how staid, how  _conservative_  La Moulin could be for a place that made its living catering to the most prurient and lurid of human impulses. It lacked creativity, the directors lacked any of the spirit that was just screaming to be let forth from Francis’ endless imagination with as much force as the moans he let loose on set on any given day.   
  
It was so terribly frustrating for a man who could conjure fantasy from thin air, who found sex as natural as breathing, and who gave and received pleasure in much the same manner an engineer crafted his car; with precision, skill, and an eye always trained on innovation and ingenuity, finding that tiny hidden spot or the lost art of love that would make his lover or his viewer desperate with wanting for him.   
  
And so, seeking distraction from the monotony of another shoot, Francis took to watching the slack faces of desire and the badly disguised glares of envy in the crowd that inevitably gathered to witness his performance in La Moulin’s pornographic symphony. It was only boredom that let his eyes linger on the one person in the background who bore neither marks of lust nor of envy as he gazed without reservation while Francis stroked and touched and mouthed another co-star into incoherency. Francis barely recognized this strangely calm onlooker, having only the vaguest recollections of a firm handshake and an introduction to one of the senior accountants at the annual holiday party that mixed together both the front-end and the back-end of the La Moulin studio.   
  
It was unusual for those who cooked the books and watched the numbers to leave the confines of their desks and computer monitors to dip their toes in the sordidness that kept La Moulin’s profits well in the black, but Francis couldn’t help but notice that he was receiving more than his fair share of attention from one of these very accountants, handsome enough to be worthy of receiving a smile and nod in appreciation of his fine blue eyed stare when Francis breezed on to the set and under the unwavering gaze of his tall admirer.   
  
_The accountant who watches the pornstar, how terribly quaint!_   
  
He thought at first it was no more than the latest infatuation in a string of countless inadvertent conquests, the silent number-cruncher with a yen for the prize rose of La Moulin, but when Francis found himself subject to the same quiet, calculating eyes as he pitched his latest scene suggestion (a vertible orgy for the senses!) to his far too lacking  superiors, he began to take a closer look at this mysterious man. It would seem this was more than just a routine crush, about something more than just lust for his body and considerable talent at the adult arts.   
  
_How interesting._   
  
And so he watched in return as Jos (he had charmed the name out of one of his fawning sycophants in packing and shipping) watched him during meetings, during shoots, as they passed each other in the hallway.   
  
Francis made it his business to watch people always. Men, women, beautiful or plain, young and old, it was of no consequence, as he found that every person had a tell; that inevitably everyone gave themselves away, revealed the secrets that were the keys to opening all their doors. He watched the movements of their hands and the way their lips parted or their eyes shone as they handed him coffee in a café, or bid their lover farewell on the doorstep, or angrily cursed the taxi that passed them by on the street, waiting for the moment that would tell him everything he needed to know.   
  
But Jos was different, something new and intriguing, so closed and coiled beneath the attractive façade and the constant swath of cigarette smoke that Francis could not quite discern his game, could not quite understand what it was that he had that warranted such simultaneously careful and careless scrutiny. All he knew for certain was that he was flattered and intrigued, for though seduction was always deeply amusing, he was roused enough to want to dig in deep enough to unbind all that was coiled beneath those inscrutable blue eyes and wind it around his fingers and pull until all the secrets came spilling forth.   
  
So it was with little surprise but a great deal of anticipation that Francis nodded his head and readily agreed when Jos stopped him in the hall and asked him in stilted French made wholly unattractive by his Dutch accent if Francis could spare a moment. 'Finally', he thought as he followed the broad unyielding back into a neat and sterile office, he would get to see exactly what kind of game was afoot.   
  
He settled into the offered chair, declining to smoke but smiling prettily when Jos asked if Francis minded if he partook. Francis had a feeling that not many warranted such a courtesy, keeping a trained eye on Jos’ reaction as he crossed his legs and traced a finger along his lips and asked how he could be of service.   
  
Jos’ face gave away nothing, though his gaze tracked the movement of his leg and his finger as if cataloguing the actions for future analysis and Francis found himself more intrigued as he took his own stock of the small, windowless office, making idle chatter in French. During the exchange of pleasantries, which he purposefully drew out beyond the standards of politeness, he noted Jos’ well-disguised distaste for such social discourse, fitting for a man with a desk so meticulous, free of all personal affects but a solitary picture frame and a pretty little ashtray in Delft blue. Two lonely trappings of home that gave away his humanity.   
  
Leaning forward so that his hair fell over his shoulders, Francis laughed lightly and asked if perhaps Jos would prefer to continue the conversation in English, thickening his own accent and stumbling slightly over the words as he believed that Jos was the kind of man that enjoyed the feeling of control and superiority; that he would prefer a Francis who was intelligent and keen, but perhaps just a touch in need of Jos’ guidance.   
  
Jos said nothing, only arching one eyebrow and putting out his cigarette before smoothly transitioning into near perfect English with a measured thank you and the barest hint of curiosity in his voice. Francis smiled again, rolling his r’s in that way that made men tell him their secrets, touching his elbow to Jos’ desk and resting his chin in his palm, offering Jos the opportunity to show his hand.   
  
Much to Francis’ pleasure, Jos leaned forward as well, crossing his impressively large hands over his desk, holding his gaze as he said in precise, clipped English, “Thank you for speaking with me. I assure you it will not be a waste of time. I’ve been watching you.”   
  
Francis winked and tilted his head, “I’ve noticed. I hope you like what you’ve seen.”   
  
“Certainly,” Jos answered, “you’re very talented.”   
  
Though his smile stayed firmly in place, Francis was disappointed, feeling as though he had fooled himself into believing there was something more to this handsome man and cold stare than mere infatuation with his stage persona.   
  
“Thank you,” Francis answered demurely, already wondering how best to extricate himself when his attention was irrevocably recaptured as Jos slid a folder across the narrow desk, trailing his long fingers along the manila.   
  
“I wonder if you know perhaps just what that talent is worth, Mr. Bonnefoy. While I’ve taken a very good look at you, I'm even more familiar with your numbers.”   
  
_Numbers...what on earth? How surprising!_   
  
Intrigued, Francis purred, “Please, call me Francis, since it seems you know me so well, Mr…”   
  
“Jos. And I make it my business to know you well, Francis,” Jos answered as Francis watched his gaze shift from his face to the folder before him, completely immersed in whatever this surprising man would show him next, “I make it my business to be aware of La Moulin’s most valuable assets.”   
  
Francis uncrossed his legs and settled back in his chair, favoring Jos with one of his more genuine smiles, “Most valuable? Mmm, flattery will get you everywhere, Jos.”   
  
“I would flatter you if I could,” Jos said and Francis swallowed the temptation to laugh at such a ridiculous claim, reading the lie between the lines of Jos’ chilly smirk and flat eyes, too amused and piqued to ruin such fun.   
  
“But I am uninterested in idle flattery. If you’ll allow me to show you some figures, I believe you'll understand my point,” Jos continued smoothly, already standing from his desk, letting just one finger drag along the side of Francis’ palm where it rested over the hidden documents.   
  
“Oh, I am always interested in seeing figures,” Francis flirted as his mind raced with all the possibilities of exactly what was on offer, exactly what this perplexing Dutchman had in this folder that made him worthy of such an elaborate show.   
  
He ate up the sound of Jos’ faked laughter  _(oh, how wonderful to find someone who would play along so finely!)_ , unsurprised but welcoming of the bold spread of Jos’s arms around the back of his chair as he leaned over Francis in a most unnecessary but telling way to flip open the folder and finally come to the crux of the matter.   
  
He shifted subtly into the warm circle of Jos’ chest, so they were just touching, acting his part as Jos started to speak. Francis found his attention entirely deviated away from the appealing smell of smoke and cologne and the shifting of Jos’ throat as the hidden threads of this elaborate affair came to light.   
  
“These are your monthly sales for DVDs, digital downloads, and other La Moulin subscriptions,” Jos said while Francis listened, “It should come as no surprise that you are the number one profit generating actor in the studio.”   
  
Francis took a long look at the graphs, eyes widening as he took in just how profitable he was for La Moulin, titling his head back to peer up at Jos, “I always was popular.”   
  
“I’ve no doubt,” Jos answered silkily, though Francis could feel the impatience in the tension of the arms pressed against his shoulders, “But if you’ll take a look at Figures 3-6, you’ll see that not only are you personally very successful for La Moulin, but each of the junior actors you’ve recruited also routinely finish in the top ten for quarterly sales and downloads. An impressive feat.”   
  
Genuinely caught off guard by such a revelation, Francis held his tongue, unable to pull his eyes away from the bold, black numbers that Jos was caressing with one finger, touching his profitability so sweetly that Francis began to have an inkling of just what was going on.   
  
_The calculated seduction. Lips that smile and words that flirt and flatter for something other than sex.  
  
The question, the delicious question, was for what purpose? For what end game did Jos plot and plan once the last echoes of orgasm had faded?_   
  
Francis let out a low whistle, letting his own finger join Jos’ to trace over the numbers, murmuring, “I had no idea. I think may be underpaid!”   
  
The warmth surrounding him shifted as Jos moved around him to lean against the desk, long legs splayed in careful casualness in front of Francis as he nodded solemnly, voice serious as if Jos could think of no greater crime than someone of Francis’ caliber being so poorly treated, “Underpaid and underutilized. Each of your filmed scripts also end up performing admirably for La Moulin. Based on my estimations, you are to be credited with directly and indirectly generating over 40% of the revenue for the studio. And were someone with more vision maximizing your many advantages, you could be worth even more.”   
  
“How much more?”   
  
And as Jos stole his breath with the “65%” that fell from his lips, Francis felt as though the man had looked at him with serious intent for the first time since they had begun this little dance.   
  
_It was irresistible, to be so unexpectedly valued for something so entirely without prurience, something as mercenary and mundane as money, to be led down the primrose path with such skill for such a reason.  
  
Absolutely marvelous. Oh, how he hoped there would be another scene in this startlingly entertaining act they were writing together, each keeping their lines hidden from the other._   
  
“My goodness!” Francis breathed out, letting his real irritation with his current employers spill out in hastily spoken and unintelligible French before collecting himself and placing a hand on Jos’ knee, blinking slowly and murmuring, “Thank you so much for bringing this to my attention.”   
  
A surprisingly warm hand covered his, though the eyes that met his remained as cold and distant as ever, the voice in his ear as charming as polished silver, “I thought it was important that you were aware of how valuable you are. Awareness of worth is invaluable. And  you should know that I, too, am more than aware of such truths. Something to think about perhaps.”   
  
Francis stood, moving just inside the spread of Jos’ legs to gather the papers into the folder and tuck under his arm, turning so that his ass brushed against Jos’ crotch in a fleeting tease before making his way to the door.   
  
The perfect picture of coquetry, he paused, giving Jos a heated look over his shoulder that promised so much if Jos would just invite him out to dance once more, licking his lips and purring, “I assure you that I shall think of little else…Jos.”   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
  
Much to his delight, Francis didn’t have to wait long for Jos to come fishing for him once again with his fake flattery and calculated touches, within days inviting him out for a “business” dinner to continue their earlier discussion. It seemed that Jos believed Francis to be well baited, dangling on his hook just as according to his plan.   
  
And, oh, Francis ate the bait before him with relish, aware of every bite he took of Jos’ mystery apple, playing right along with his overly accented English and his curious cognizance laced with just enough innocent incredulity to reassure Jos of his total control of this crafted seduction.   
  
Francis thought that perhaps he had never enjoyed being courted so much in his life, that this conquest he was making would be his most prized notch on the bedpost.   
  
The restaurant was perfect, Francis noted, crediting Jos with finding a place just dim enough to be clandestine without being obvious and staid enough to pass as nothing more than a convenient meeting place for two colleagues with a common interest.   
  
Such wonderful precision and attention to detail, Francis marveled as he admired the night’s trappings of seduction; chilled Burgundy and an finely dressed partner, roast chicken and conversation lightly basted in sycophancy and garnished with more facts and figures of Francis’ profit prowess. And all for him, so that he could play his part in whatever number laden fantasy Jos was currently spinning out before him.   
  
It was so intoxicating and entertaining that Francis caved to the desire to have one of Jos’ plentiful smokes just so he could lean into the cup of those large hands when offered a light, smirking up into the powerful blueness of Jos’ blandly critical stare that gave so little away even when Francis exhaled gently over the exposed skin of his wrist.   
  
“Mmm,” Francis sighed warmly, letting his eyes flutter close and his head tip back just enough so the pretty lines of his throat were on display, “Dinner was lovely. Thank you, Jos. You’ve proven to be very enlightening company.”   
  
Jos lit his own cigarette and Francis enjoyed the satisfied curve of his smirk that Jos clearly believed was hidden by the smoke.   
  
“You’re very welcome,” Jos said slowly before pushing his napkin to the side to lean on the table, spearing Francis with the spark of interest in his expression, “But perhaps now you might enlighten me…”   
  
Francis took the foot rubbing against his own in stride, letting himself be caught by touch and talk, “Of course. Ask whatever it is your heart desires!”   
  
Amused by the tiny flicker of Jos’ irritation at the mention of something as ridiculous as heart’s desires, Francis pressed his advantage, sliding his foot from his shoe to skate along Jos’ calf, though waiting avidly for whatever it was this fascinating man would ask of him.   
  
“If you were to have artistic control of a studio, what would you do with it? How would you ensure success?” Jos asked casually, once again startling Francis so finely that he dropped his napkin and removed his foot from Jos' pantleg.   
  
Pleasantly surprised and invariably flattered that someone had finally asked him the question he’d been planning for and churning over in his mind since the first day one of his scripts had been selected at La Moulin, Francis gifted Jos with his most beguiling and enticing smile, the honeyed grin that had made him a star.   
  
And once the flattery had faded to low burning warmth under his skin, it hit him. The revelation, the key to this wonderful game he was playing, the “why” behind Jos’ every touch and half-hearted compliment became as clear to Francis as the wine in his glass.   
  
_Jos wanted to break away from La Moulin. He wanted his own studio.  
  
And he wanted Francis to come with him.  
  
Magnificent! Wonderful! Sex and money and power and freedom for the taking, wrapped in seduction and charm, offered to him with doubtless thousands of hidden strings attached. He did so like a challenge._   
  
“What an interesting question,” Francis murmured, holding Jos’ heavy stare as he took another drag and toyed with the top buttons of his shirt, “I’ve often thought that toying with the concept of porn stars as “nations” would work very well.”   
  
“How so?” Jos asked and Francis could not ignore the tone of urgency that belied his attempts at vague curiosity.   
  
“History has a way of lending itself to countless possibilities for passion. Roman orgies, the suppressed desire of the Victorians, the violence of the Vikings, the tarnished romance of La Belle Epoque, the “unions” of so many countries! So many opportunities for a little perversion of history!”   
  
Francis continued, warming to his subject under Jos’ scrutiny, “Customers will identify with their “country” or perhaps they’ll want the romanticized version of what they’ve always believed about the nation of their fevered dreams. Something for everyone, which is the very simple key to the formula for success in our industry; the viewer must be able to believe that they can both have and never have what is on the screen or the page. Just real enough that they, too, can be a France or a Netherlands, but fantasy enough that they cannot do without more to sustain their own fantasy.”   
  
“Fantastic,” Jos breathed out quietly, startling Francis with the intensity of his gaze and the determined set of his shoulders, revealing for the first time the depth of his convictions, the quiet passion that dwelt underneath the impassivity of his handsome face.   
  
Thrilled and aroused by the glimpse of what was hidden from the view of all others’, Francis was decidedly ready to sign his name to whatever it was that Jos was selling, uninterested in letting such mysterious fruit go untasted. Humming with pleasure, Francis answered simply smiled and answered, “Thank you.”   
  
“Come home with me,” Jos asked as he finished his wine and took Francis’ hand in his with perfunctory suaveness. Francis ignored the fact that he also looked at his watch and cast his eyes to the ceiling as though having a silent conversation with God that involved all the reasons why he had to do this in order to get Francis to agree to his plan.   
  
His nations-smut pitch must have been quite convincing, Francis mused with no shortage of mirth, if Jos thought it was necessary to take the seduction to such lengths.   
  
_How very amusing. How very appealing. How irresistible._   
  
Delighted that Jos seemed determined to see his game through to the pleasant end, Francis brushed his lips over Jos’ knuckles to hide his smirk, murmuring his assent as he made plans of his own for the final act of what Francis was now certain would only be their first dance of many.   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
  
Jos’ home was as pristine as his office to Francis’ total lack of surprise. The kitchen looked as though it had never been used and he wondered if perhaps Jos had no love for Paris, if perhaps his home in Holland was filled with pictures of family and friends, or if it was as stark and unrevealing as this tasteful but soulless space.   
  
He took the glass of very good brandy that Jos handed him, one last well selected offering before Jos doubtless made his final move towards the bedroom and put forth formal proposals to elope from La Moulin with him to start somewhere new.   
  
Such a thought tasted as rich and hot as the brandy in his mouth as Jos settled next to him on the couch, placing one hand on his thigh and one arm behind his shoulders as though he ticking off the steps on a manual of how to get someone in bed.It was unworthy of their game and Francis wondered if perhaps Jos had grown bored, had maybe found his pursuit too easy, Francis too compliant.   
  
'Well, there was nothing like breaking all the rules to liven up a game,'Francis thought as he set his brandy down on the coffee table and took Jos’ firm and wonderful jaw in hand to steal the presumption of victory from his lips.   
  
With his tongue he felt Jos’ shock and the slow but steady reorganization of his plans in the settling of hands on his waist and the finesse of his kiss as Francis showed him exactly why it was he was worth 65% of revenue.   
  
When he felt the choked moan under his fingers, rumbling in Jos’ mouth, Francis pulled away, laughing against the parting of Jos’ lips, “The answer is yes. I’ll leave La Moulin to start a studio with you.”   
  
To his incredible delight, Jos gave nothing more away than a sudden tensing of the hands holding him close as he eyed Francis calculatingly and said, “You seem very certain.”   
  
Francis kissed up the lovely curve of Jos’ throat to whisper in his ear, “For total artistic control and an equitable cut of profits you’ll find I am surprisingly easy.”   
  
Jos’ hands fell away and Francis settled on his heels to take in the beauty of Jos’ face in presumed victory, all the pretense falling away as his cold eyes lit with all the possibilities of the future.   
  
“I’ll draw up the contracts tomorrow,” Jos said smugly, lips curling upwards in a smirk that begged to be bitten and destroyed, making Francis’ cock twitch with anticipation.   
  
Without hesitation, Francis crawled into Jos’ lap, pushing his hands into the mess of Jos’ hair, smiling as the self-satisfaction in those “I’ll never tell” eyes melted away to be replaced by wary curiosity.   
  
“Wonderful, but first I think I’d like that more personal handshake you had in mind originally,” Francis purred, fingers busying themselves with divesting Jos of his shirt while he moved his hips over Jos’ hardening cock, reminding Jos exactly who held all the cards when it came to such things as fucking.   
  
Two strong hands cupped his face, pushing him back far enough so that Francis had no choice but to let Jos read the pure enjoyment and mischief in his expression, the exultation and the raw lust.   
  
“Interesting,” was all the answer Francis got before Jos pulled their faces back together, this time kissing him with something other than false desire and it was as wonderful and dark as Francis had known it would be.   
  
He sighed around his amusement and licked the taste of Jos from his lips.   
  
And in the vastness of Jos’ bed in a bedroom as blank and somehow entrancing as the man himself, Francis enjoyed the intensity and precision and attention to detail that Jos seemed to give to every task he deemed worth of his time. He arched into the touch of Jos’ fingers, seeking and searching for each advantage to be found on Francis’ body as though Jos wanted to map out each hidden spot that made him weak with wanting. He fluttered his lashes and moaned with the perfect pitch of passion when Jos ran his mouth over the curve of his foot and the bones of the ankle resting on his shoulder as he pushed his hard and heavy cock inside, memorizing the way the momentary loss of control looked in the parting of Jos’ lips and the shuttering of those too blue eyes.   
  
Oh, yes, he was good, Francis thought as Jos rocked into him, steady and sure, surprising him with nips and kisses to his toes and gentle touches along the insides of his thighs down to the place where they were joined as if he could not quite believe this was reality.   
  
Yes, Jos was good, but Francis was better. And though his hair had come loose and his cock ached and his throat filled with sighs and moans, he still wanted to reach into Jos and uncoil all that tightly wound mystery and want. He wanted the underneath.   
  
And he wanted it under his hands and on his lips and in his body.   
  
Twining his arms around Jos’ neck, Francis pulled him down to kiss him deeply, teasing him with his tongue as he rolled them over to sit astride Jos’ lap, wresting control with so little effort it made him want to kiss away Jos’ telling pout. Without giving the other man an opportunity to regain the upper hand, Francis proceeded to give Jos a firsthand introduction to his sexual resume, confident that there was no one he couldn’t undo with his lengthy and storied work history.   
  
Winking and blowing Jos a kiss, Francis moved over his cock with tiny, tempting rolls of his hips, leaning back so one hand was resting by his knee for support and his hair brushed the inside of the spread of Jos’s legs, knowing that he made such a prettily debauched picture in this position, taking satisfaction from the whisper of Jos’ curse that echoed louder in his ears than a shouted moan. Slowly, he worked his way up, hips rising higher as he sat up further, hand trailing from Jos’ knee to touch and tease his balls while he disobeyed Jos’ attempt to set the pace with the fingers grasping his waist.   
  
As his own need started to thrum under his skin, Francis snapped forward to take Jos’ wrists in his hands, pinning them to the pillow as he bent over his soon to be partner and admired the flush in his cheeks and the muss of his hair, kissing the sweat from his brow as he gave into the urge to ride Jos’ with the abandon they both wanted.   
  
Francis bit at Jos’ mouth, licking away any remnants of control, blowing at the damp hair behind his ear and swallowing his shiver as shifted one hand between them to stroke his cock. Francis smiled into the heated panting of their kiss when another set of fingers interlaced with his own, hot and wet over his cock, determined to have their say-so in Francis coming with a happy sigh that had less artifice than any of the hundred times he had looked into a camera and given his pleasure over to the world.   
  
He felt the tension of Jos’s wrist under his hand and the answering gasp of completion on his tongue as Jos’ arched off the bed and came inside him, achingly deep and intimate. He opened his eyes just enough to see the brief, fleeting vision of Jos undone, kissing him as he watched the passion ripple over his face.   
  
Signed, sealed, and delivered, Francis thought with the delirious happiness that orgasm wrought, falling over to lay satiated at Jos’ side, tasting pleasure and possibility on his tongue, closing his eyes to the sight of Jos’ stripping off the condom and grumbling as he resettled on the bed, close enough to share warmth without touching.   
  
“That was very good,” Francis said in his nearly flawless English, tossing aside the pretense of his carefully crafted persona, knowing that a man as wonderfully complicated as this called deserved nothing less than his full self.   
  
Jos snorted and propped up on one elbow, peering down at Francis with barely disguised curiosity, “Hmm. The accent was an artifice I take it? A little act to make me feel in control.”   
  
Francis smiled and ran his fingers over the lingering sweat and come on Jos’ chest, “My darling, it’s all artifice, is it not? That’s what makes me so good. As I said before, everyone has a fantasy. Something that makes them tick, makes them want. And I am exceptionally good at uncovering that fantasy, that hidden want.”   
  
“And expoliting it to your fullest advantage?”   
  
"Certainly."   
  
Jos was beautiful and terrifying when he smiled, Francis thought as he parted his lips for Jos’ fleetingly hot kiss, feeling Jos’ unrestrained pleasure at how he was going to use such a valuable asset as Francis.   
  
It tasted of excitement and danger.   
  
“And did you uncover mine? My secret fantasy that will have me at your beck and call?” Jos said when the kiss had ended and he’d lit up a smoke, passing one across the bed to Francis, who took a long drag and laughed lightly.   
  
“You mean to say that this isn’t it?” He teased, “I’m offended. I’ve yet to sign anything. You ought to be telling me how beautiful I am and promising to bring me a bouquet of tulips in every color nature has to offer in all her bounty.”   
  
“Useless,” Jos volleyed back with dry amusement.   
  
“Romance is never useless,” Francis purred, favoring Jos with a lascivious smile and the fine sight of his naked back as he climbed from the bed in search of his clothes.   
  
“That’s what I have you for,” Jos said plainly as Francis turned to stare him, bare and calm on the bed, “I won’t promise you poetry, but I promise that if you see this through with me, I’ll make you rich and I’ll make you famous in our sordid corner of the world.”   
  
Francis smiled and slipped on his pants, thinking that between the two of them, there was no trap they could not set, no war of want they could not wage, no game they could not play.   
  
“I believe you.”   
  
~~~~~~~~~   
And a week later when he slid the contracts from a pristine envelop to put paper to pen and make their partnership official, Francis could not help his genuine smile of delight as he read,  _“Francis Bonnefoy is hereby named sole Artistic Director of **The** **Blue Tulip Studios, Inc.** ”_   
  
The Blue Tulip. The only tulip that didn’t bloom naturally. Only Jos would think of such a thing, would give him such an underhanded and wonderful gift.   
  
He laughed as he signed his name beside Jos’, ready for the challenge.   
  


  



End file.
